The Sunroom
by Moore12
Summary: Clint always left something unfinished. It was a ritual he started after Cooper was born ... And this time, he had promised Laura a sunroom. A whole sunroom. He could picture it now, and he would hang up his bow and be the husband Laura deserved, the father he should have been long ago. Alternate ending to Age of Ultron. Reviews always appreciated.


**The Sunroom**

 _The strongest among you may not wear a crown – "Citizen Soldier" by 3 Doors Down_

He always left something unfinished. It was a ritual he started after Cooper was born. Fury told him he could be on paternity leave for "at minimum" three weeks but only ended up giving him one because he and Natasha's special set of skills were needed. He hadn't finished painting the nursery, largely because he and Laura couldn't decide on what accent color to use; she said blue, he suggested purple and, for once, he didn't put his metaphorical tail between his legs and says "yes, ma'am" when she insisted on blue.

So he hadn't finished painting before he had to leave again. And, after he gave Laura a peck on the cheek and rushed out the door into the howling Iowa wind, he called over his shoulder, "I'll finish painting as soon as I get back!"

Natasha had almost smacked him when he prattled on in a whisper about the merits of purple paint as they crept through the sewers, ankle deep in water that smelled so foul, he wished his smell was the sense that had been compromised all those years ago. Her teasing quickly took a sharper edge, ultimately ending in her telling him that she would paint the room red if he didn't shut up. When he didn't answer with one of his usual off-handed quips, she hissed, "Don't you dare go soft on me, Agent Barton."

The smile in her eyes told him that maybe, just maybe, deep, deep down inside, she didn't think that was a bad thing, and he couldn't help but chuckle because, well, maybe a newborn baby with his eyes and his wife's hair did that to even the most highly trained assassin? By the time he got home, after a week of tracking, chasing and fighting, he knew what he wanted to do. Without consulting Laura, he painted all the trim in the room purple. A day later, he re-painted it blue. All it took was one withering glare from Laura to know that, if he didn't, he would wish he was back in the sewers.

Over the years, he always stopped just short of finishing any project. At first, he didn't even realize he was doing it. The best example: when he redid the kid's bathroom in anticipation of their second child, he blanked while at the hardware store and failed to pick out a new faucet for the sink and a new showerhead even though Laura had reminded him to five times before he headed out. Then, it became habit. Like the time he purposively didn't lay two strips of tile in the foyer even though he was well aware it could be a tripping hazard for a hyperactive six year old and his shadow of a three-year-old sister.

He didn't know exactly when it had almost become superstition. Maybe it was after Manhattan. Fury hadn't let him go home right away, like he always did after a mission. He wouldn't give a reason, but he didn't need to. He knew he couldn't go home. He didn't want to himself. Because he was terrified that Natasha hadn't freed him, that Loki was still lurking in the corners of his mind, waiting to regain control at precisely the moment when he was most vulnerable, wanting to punish him in the worst possible way. During that time, he lived in the air vents. He couldn't sleep and, whenever he succumbed to his exhaustion, he woke up screaming, flailing for the bow he no longer had. He tried to call Laura once or twice but, every time he heard her voice on the other end of the line, he hung up. Fury told him, in one of their brief meetings, he had already explained why he wasn't home yet, had told her what had happened. And he couldn't face that.

Eventually, he was sent home. He passed every psych eval and was cleared of every charge against him. No, S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't hold him accountable for his actions while under Loki's control. He, on the other hand, was another story. But Fury thought it would be best for him to go home. "Barton, you need a vacation," he said, definitely forcing that smile when he clapped him on the shoulder. "That's an order."

He always followed orders, to a fault. So he went home even though he wasn't ready yet. After Laura nearly suffocated him with a quick hug, she took a step back. To examine him. Judge him, like everyone else. See if he was sane, and safe, enough to have around the kids. He couldn't meet her gaze. To his surprise, all she said was, "Clint Barton, do you have any idea what it's like living in a construction zone?"

He blinked, confused. Then, it all came flooding back. Before he left, he was redoing the master bathroom. He had got it in his head he could replace the yellowing tub himself and install a sleek walk-in shower big enough for the two of them. He also made the mistake of deciding to, at the same time, rip out all the floral-printed wallpaper he hated so much, thinking it would be easy because, well, it seemed like it was falling off all by itself. Oh, and he just had to pull out the cabinets too because they didn't match the tile Laura picked out. When he left, he thought he would be home in a week or two but then…

No. He wasn't going to think about it. He looked up and could see the concern in Laura's eyes. He managed a smile and, for the first time in far too long, a quip: "But, honey, I just got home."

After that, he lost himself in the project. He didn't hear from S.H.I.E.L.D., and he didn't care. He wasn't called back for an Avengers mission, and he wasn't worried. By the time Fury summoned him to help pick up the pieces of what little was left of S.H.I.E.L.D., he had finished the bath and had just started building Cooper a tree house. Even though Cooper cried, he didn't put the roof on before he left. He just patted his son on the head and said, "Don't worry, Coop. It'll be the first thing I do when I get back, okay?"

That was the point when he started leaving his projects more unfinished than completed. And this time, he had promised Laura a sunroom. A whole sunroom. He started out by saying he was just going to put new flooring down and then was suddenly talking about knocking down walls and installing glass paneling so they could watch the sunset together. He didn't know what got into him, but it scared him. It was such a big promise to make. Even Laura looked surprised, but she quickly recovered. The only thing that betrayed that she too was scared was that she caught his hand and squeezed a little too tightly—a little too defiantly—when she replied, "That sounds like it would be wonderful, Clint. But, first, could you fix the tractor?"

He convinced Laura to ask Stark to look at the tractor; he was a marksman, not an engineer, after all, and he could never figure out what was wrong with the stupid thing. As for the sunroom, he pored himself into it, even after he left again with the team. Late at night when he couldn't sleep, he scoured home improvement websites for inspiration. When he had a spare moment to read, he circled pieces he liked in the latest _IKEA Magazine_ Laura handed him before he left. At dinner, he drew up schematics and scribbled ideas on napkins, ignoring his teammates' conversation. He may have dropped out of school in middle school to run away to the circus, but he was smart enough to know what was coming, and he needed to finish the design.

When they got to Sokovia, it didn't take long for things to fall apart. Before they could evacuate even a third of the civilians, the city was in the air, being swarmed by hundreds of homicidal robots. None of it made any sense, but he stayed out there because it was his job. In between shooting robots out of the sky and ushering civilians to relative safety, he ran through color options, one of the last things he had to decide, in his head. It was the only thing that kept him calm.

Then, after a whirlwind of activity, it was over, and he was still alive (and somehow relatively uninjured too). They had defeated Ultron and his army. They had gotten the civilians onto the helicarrier shuttles. There was nothing else to be done; well, for him at least given that an arrow wasn't about to stop an explosion that would effectively end the world. Shakily, he boarded one of the only shuttles left on the ground and let himself take a breath. He could picture it now; he would hang up his bow and be the husband Laura deserved, the father he should have been long ago. He would finish the sunroom, and he and Laura would sit out there, watching the kids playing in the yard until the sun set and the nighttime air was filled with the chirps of crickets…

"My son!"

His mental image mercilessly fractured, and he was back on the shuttle. A woman was sobbing—my son, my son—over and over again, and he spotted a young boy lying in the rubble. Without a second thought, he ran in that direction.

After freeing the boy and lifting him into his arms, he turned back to the shuttle. It was so close, and he decided on cream with cobalt blue trim the instant before he saw the ship speeding towards them, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. There was no time, and nothing he could do.

Squeezing his eyes shut in hopes of recapturing the image from earlier, he turned his back to the ship and shielded the boy with his body. And, as the bullets rained down on him, he whispered an apology to his wife. He wouldn't be finishing the sunroom after all.

* * *

The sun had long since set by the time Steve laid the last tile, wiped the sweat from his brow and allowed himself to think for the first time since they arrived at the farm. He had lost himself in the manual labor, in deciphering the plan from napkins and magazines and bookmarked websites, but now they were done, and the reality of what had happened weighed down on him.

Tony had wandered off long ago, complaining that his chest hurt; when Steve took a water break, he found the billionaire sitting on the floor with Cooper and Lila, building what appeared to be Avengers Tower out of Legos, his smile tired and his eyes rimmed with red.

Pietro had gone for a run, claiming that he needed to burn off some energy, and he hadn't returned yet. Steve was starting to doubt that he would before they turned in for the night; Wanda had mentioned that Pietro kept muttering something about not being fast enough in his sleep, and Steve knew that being around the family wasn't helping.

Natasha had abandoned him right when the sun began its descent; she wanted to help Laura and Wanda make dinner, and Steve chuckled at the thought of the Black Widow doing something so downright domestic, earning him a swift slap on the back of the head that he never saw coming.

Sighing heavily, Steve clamored to his feet and surveyed the work the five Avengers had done in just under a week. They had followed the plan as closely as they could, down to the odd quirk that involved installing what essentially amounted to a small roost in the rafters. Not that it would be needed now…

Steve was the one who delivered the news, even though Natasha had volunteered. He was the one who wordlessly embraced Laura, not needing to tell her because she already knew when she saw him standing on her doorstep and not her husband, who explained to Cooper and Lila that Daddy wasn't coming home but would always watch over them from above, like a hawk.

As captain, Steve felt it was his responsibility, and he still felt the weight of his failure on his shoulders. He never told anyone, but he had vowed to make sure that his teammate made it home safely the moment he learned that he had a family.

"It looks beautiful."

Steve started. He hadn't noticed Laura standing in the doorway, surveying their work for the first time. Natasha had told him, while they sat on the porch staring at the stars because they both couldn't sleep, that was because she wasn't ready to confront that her husband wasn't the one finishing his final project. He didn't know what to say so he remained quiet, and the only sound was the crickets chirping far in the distance.

"I think he would have liked it," Laura continued quietly. "It looks like something he would have done and…"

Laura's voice trailed off. Steve saw the tears glistening in her eyes, but none fell. Finally, she finished, "I appreciate you all taking the time to do this for my family. It means so much to us, and it's…it's a great way to honor his memory."

The tears began to fall, and Steve wordlessly embraced his fallen teammate' wife for the second time. Likely because Wanda sensed Laura's distress, Wanda and Natasha were quick to join them. Soon enough, they were sitting around the small table Tony ordered straight from the IKEA website, sharing memories and tears, dinner forgotten until Tony, Lila and Cooper brought it out to them.

The sunroom was finished. And one look around the table told Steve that Clint would be happy it had brought his families together.

* * *

 _This was actually the first Hawkeye story I started writing. I ended up putting it down to work on "Hide & Seek," but I had a flash of inspiration today and decided to finish it. I felt like Age of Ultron built up for him to die so I decided to play out that scenario. I hope you liked the story. I don't think there's many stories out there that play out this scenario, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Thanks for reading! ~Moore12 _


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